


Your Starless Eyes

by Prototype



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, Romance, Tragedy, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prototype/pseuds/Prototype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing I loved most in the world, it was the everlasting tales of love and misery. Great romances coloured with the taint of tragedy. <br/>It was a pity how my own turned out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Starless Eyes

**Your Starless Eyes**

 

 

Ever since I was young, I’ve loved stories. Fairy tales, with the morals at the end. Adventure stories with heroes and beautiful maidens. Sci fi and horrors with the same old adjectives for blood, gore and mayhem. Even when watching TV or movies, I was more interested in the stories and the emotions of the characters involved than special effects or CGI or actors with names worth more than they are. 

My favourite stories were always the romances though. Romeo and Juliet, Titanic, the Notebook…the heart-wrenchers, the gut clenching tragedies. The ones plagued with ‘what if?’ and ‘why’ and those little tiny details that add up to disaster. The ones were you come out the end in tears because no matter how much the two people deserved to be with each other and happy, it never ended perfectly ever after. 

I’m a hopeless romantic, I know, people have been telling me this my entire life. If something’s bad, I always feel it should be raining outside so I can walk home in it like a soul tortured hero. If I’m missing someone, I want to sit in the windowsill of a beautiful sunlit day and let the rays of light bounce off a single tear tracking down my cheek…yeah, I’m a romantic. I love clichés, I love moments out of movies. 

I think they’re precious slices of dreams, pure gold and wonderful. 

I guess that’s why you and I fit so well. 

It was a story between us at first, and a goddamn perfect one at first. It was a tragic cliché. You were the new girl, and full of inner beauty. So shy as well. I saw you get out of your car in front of the school and look up and around, your face open and worried. I can’t even remember what you wore, I just remember you looking up into the wide windows of the art block and catching my eye. 

We both blushed, I remember that easily. 

You followed your mom quickly into school and I kept my eyes on the paper until…barely ten minutes and there you were in front of me. It was exactly like a movie, the music coming out of nowhere as you and I exchanged blushing glances. You smiled shyly as I grinned, biting my lip and hiding in my hair. God, you were so beautiful. I recognised that romantic streak in you, the hopeless need for torture and love and beauty in everything around you. 

We didn’t speak on our first meeting, remember? You were too busy averting your gaze from me, you were so shy. I never really got the chance to find out why you were shy either, it didn’t come up…I didn’t even need to learn your name before I was certain I was going to have you. There wasn’t anything but you to me that minute, hour, day…eternity. 

God knows how many days we avoided each other but kept each other close. I’d walk corridors just in case I bumped into you and your new friends, remember? I’d catch a glance of you and try my hardest not to let you catch me staring. I remember catching you, though, you were always watching when I was absorbed in something else…God, we were such flirts! Weeks, I think it was, just smiles and blushes and looks. 

But, then, perfectly, it all happened at once, just like it would in a story. I was walking home and I met you. You were sitting by the side of the road, and in tears. At least, I think you were in tears. It was raining pretty hard and I’d been moping over you on my way home. Rain always made me depressed and oddly optimistic. I was right to be optimistic that day, walking home, squelching in the rain. It led me to you. 

You’d slipped in the mud, remember? Fallen pretty damn hard as well, you’d twisted your ankle and you couldn’t walk. You were sitting in the mud by the road, crying because you didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t think anyone would see you or find you. You were crying because it was raining and you were sad. 

But then you looked up and saw me. You pushed your hair out of your hair and you smiled…so, so wide – remember? You smiled like I was a ray of sunshine, a guardian angel sent to rescue you. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face, walking up to you.

It felt planned, Fated or something. 

I carried you home. Like a prince rescuing the damsel in distress, I lifted you in my arms and you put your arms around my neck and covered me in mud as I carried you. We spoke for the first time ever, and I don’t remember a single thing we said. 

You pushed my hair out of my eyes and rested your head on my shoulder as I carried you. It was just beautiful, the sun came out just as I reached your home. We were soaking, but laughing as the light played across our bodies. 

After that, it was a simple story. Everyone knows it. Boy meets girl, boy saves girl, boy and girl fall in love. We fell. You loved romantic comedies, I loved romantic tragedies.  You loved Sunday mornings when the sun filtered through the windows, I loved Saturday nights when the wind slammed against the walls and screamed because it couldn’t reach us. You loved to be spooned, I loved spooning. You loved climbing trees and I loved jumping out of them. You loved to curl up with me on a bad day and cry, I loved to stroke your hair and kiss your tears away when you did. You loved me, and I loved you. 

We fit so perfectly, didn’t we, baby? I called you every pet name I could think of and you collected them like stars, and kept them close to you. I would kiss your nose when we said goodbye and you’d always run up behind me and ask for another. You would call me in the middle of the night to make me look at the stars. We would meet in the mornings to watch the sunrise. We would dance in the empty streets. We would hum love songs, hand in hand. Roll in fields. Kiss in thunderstorms. 

But, like every cliché and teenage love story, we weren’t perfect…we fought a lot and argued over everything and got sick of each other nearly every other day. We fought like the devil over nothing, and everyone would laugh at us, because they knew we’d make up in seconds flat. There were times I didn’t even bother to let you finish yelling before I’d make up, kissing you mid-sentence. You always melted then. We loved making up the most. 

But then…then came the part of the story they didn’t see coming. You know the tragic bit, that happens three quarters of the way through? The disaster in the plot which means the main characters have to overcome something and prove their love and it ends perfectly? Well…I didn’t know it at the time, but we’d reached our plot twist. 

“No! Just no! I can’t believe you did that!”

“Baby, please, just calm down, let me explain!”

“No! No, I won’t! I can’t believe you! You’re acting as if it’s just a simple mistake I misunderstood! I caught you kissing another fucking girl!”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” 

“That’s all good and fucking dandy, but that doesn’t help me, does it?! Do you know how many people saw you?”

“Baby, please, it wasn’t planned! She and I were talking and then…”

“You fell on her face?”

“No!”

“God, why am I even listening to this?”

“No, please, baby, come back!”

“Fuck off! I never want to see you again!”

There’s some horrible form of irony in that…mainly because that was the last thing you said to me…and you were looking at me then. You saw staring at me, walking away, looking over your shoulder – your eyes blazing in anger as you stormed. You thought my cries to stop and come back were…just that – emotional shouts of love and regret. 

You turned back and screamed, slipping off the sidewalk. It was raining again. Figures. The car didn’t even have a chance to see you. It honked, served, you were screaming, flailing your arms as you fell…

It missed you. Barely. It screeched out of the way as you hit the floor and lay still, on your side. 

I collapsed next to you, the rain coming down even harder than usual. I thought you were safe, alive, ok. I thought this was the moment where you’d look at me and it’d all be…cliché. Movie perfect. A story. 

A story to tell our kids. 

A bit overdramatic, but still funny in a weird way. I was chuckling as I knelt next to you, pulling you up onto my lap, hugging you. I thought you were in shock. 

“Jesus, baby, no need to scare me like that! You know I love you too much to…”

I turned you over, trying to find your smile, your laughter in the your eyes. But you were staring forwards, upwards like you could see something…amazing and huge and so, so bright. Your mouth hung open. 

I couldn’t understand it, I held you for minutes, shaking, calling your name. My voice got higher and more desperate, a cold feeling sank through me. Dread, fear.

“Baby? Baby?! BABY?!”

I screamed your name, touching your face, hair, arms, neck – trying to shake you back. But you were gone. I couldn’t understand it, I didn’t want to – this wasn’t how this was supposed to happen! The driver called the ambulance, the medics hauled you up. Took you away. 

Ok, maybe you were meant to be the heroine in a fictional story, get hurt and recover in hospital, a bit of drama in between the smut and the fluff…but something went wrong. They breathed into your lungs, pushed your chest, zapped you. They left me in the rain, taking you away. 

But you were gone. You’d never see me again, never laugh or smile or blush or cry with me again. We’d never dance in the moonlight again, never eat ice cream on the school roof. We’d never go to Paris or get married or have 2.4 kids.

That day the rain wasn’t optimistic. It gave you to me…and took you away…crushing your ribs on the tarmac…puncturing your lung…jabbing the side of your heart…killing you before you had time to feel it. I never knew your family suffered heart conditions…you never told me. 

Not romantic, I guess, to suffer something so metallic and horrible. You can’t retell a story like that, a heart condition…

My hand’s now ice cold, resting on your gravestone. My clothes are soaking wet. I only ever come visit you when it’s raining. My hair’s dripping down my collar, my bodies numb. My face is wet, but I don’t know what with. 

It wasn’t meant to end this way…

It just wasn’t. 

This is romantic, or dramatic or beautiful or poetic or anything. 

This is just tragic. 

Just like the oldest, darkest love stories.


End file.
